


River of No Return

by Moonlark



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Multi, Royalty, Succession war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of Jalinn has been in turmoil ever since the coup took place and the Browns were deposed and slaughtered. The new king rules with an iron fist; everything must be just so. But in dark corners, where no respectable soul dares venture, there are those who whisper of strange things... of hope... of rebellion... of a child who got away... of a chance to make things right again... of a king to kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saigeskiev

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, some characters have clan names besides their valley names. Here's a list, in no particular order:
> 
> Evgeni Plushenko—White Eagle  
> Jason Brown—River of No Return  
> Yuzuru Hanyu—Crow That Dances  
> Meryl Davis—Snow Feather  
> Charlie White—Smoke and Falcon  
> Evan Lysacek—Cloud Arrow  
> Polina Edmunds—Mist Between Shadows  
> Yulia Lipnitskaya—Sings in the Night  
> Alex Shibutani—Sun Breaker  
> Maia Shibutani—Moon Dancer  
> Mirai Nagasu—Laughing Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saigeskiev: (SAYGZ-keev) _n._ gift from the river Saige, literally Saige's gift. Derived from Old Common, _kiev_ meaning gift, boon, promise fulfilled.

_The Mistwater runs swift today._

White Eagle crouched by the river’s edge and splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing away the dirt that had gathered there after three suns of walking through thick forests and tramping across rough mountain trails. He smelled faintly of woodsmoke, and he knew he would need to wash that scent away if he was to have a successful hunt.

He glanced around, staring warily at the mist surrounding him, then left his deer-hide tunic and pants on a rock and executed a beautiful swan dive into the river.

He surfaced smoothly, perfectly at home in the frigid mountain river. With a practiced movement, he flicked his dripping blonde hair back out of his eyes and swam over to the shallows. From the bank he grabbed a handful of the slippery soapwort and began to wash. Soon, the smoky scent was gone, floating downstream in a faint cloud of dirt that quickly dispersed in the cold river. White Eagle inhaled; no, he could smell nothing but the scent of soapwort and water. A little mint or garlic-mustard to disguise his human smell, and he’d be fine.

He dried off with a soft piece of hide, and then dragged his clothes back on. Collecting his weapons with one hand, he smiled in anticipation of the coming hunt. It might be his last as a boy. He was already one of the best hunters in the camp, and the best-travelled. Soon, no one would be able to deny him his right as a warrior any longer. 

With the practiced ease and cat-quiet tread of someone who had spent their entire life in the woods, he made his way along the small mountain river’s banks, heading southward, away from Hawk Mountain Camp. He stopped at a deep pool where the salmon liked to congregate when it came time for their runs, examining it for any sign of the ever-important fish, and grinned slyly when his keen eyes picked up the flash of sunlight off scales. It was only a lonely forerunner, over-eager and early, but it told him that soon the falls on the upper Saige would be teeming with fish. 

Speaking of the Saige, he could see the fork just ahead, where the smaller Mistwater joined with the greatest of the northern rivers that found their sources among glaciers and snowcaps. He leaped the last few spear-lengths in great bounds and balanced, immaculately still, upon the rock leaning out over the wild, swift current. Just downstream lay the only ford on the upper Saige, but to attempt a crossing today, with the river so swollen and turbulent, would be a near death sentence.

He looked down at the river once more, staring at the turbulent water, focusing on the rapids upstream, when suddenly a strange noise presented itself to his ears: a far off pounding, like drums or thunder… or hoofbeats, he realized. Acting on instinct, he darted back under the cover of the trees.

Screened by the low-hanging branches of a hemlock, he watched carefully as a rider appeared far down the road on the other side of the ford, making for the river with all the speed the roan steed could muster. Behind the rider, three more horsemen appeared, chasing the first at breakneck speed, closing the distance that separated them. One of the pursuers aimed a crossbow at the fleeing rider; the bolt winged its way past his head with a high-pitched whine, and he ducked, glanced back, and drove his horse on faster.

The horse shied slightly at the edge of the rushing current, but at her rider's urging, plunged in among the freezing liquid runway and began to cross. The usually shallow ford would've been easily crossed, but with the water high and fast today, the mare began having trouble nearly immediately. By mid-river, she was completely off the bottom, struggling to swim against the water's flow.

The pursuers drew up at the far bank, and the one with the crossbow took aim once more. This time, his shot was good, thudding home in the middle of the fleeing rider's back just as the roan mare completed her arduous crossing. The man, or rather boy, as White Eagle could now see he was not fully grown, listed sideways, falling from the saddle and landing on the small pebbled beach. 

The other riders milled about on the other side of the river, seemingly arguing about something. White Eagle leaned forward, straining to pick up their words. He heard something about the king wanting to be sure they were dead, and about not wanting to die themselves. Then, as one, the horsemen wheeled around and rode into the river. 

Immediately, White Eagle snatched his spear from where it was leaning against a hemlock and began sneaking downstream to the ford. It was all right to let one unarmed, wounded rider cross, especially one not yet a man, but these riders now crossing were dangerous, carrying weapons, and had already demonstrated their intent on killing.

He had a duty to defend his clan and all others unable to protect themselves that wandered justly in the mountains. It was his duty to act. Besides, no self-respecting warrior would ever let a valley-man across the Saige on his watch. The valley-men had shed too much clan blood, and any small revenge was one the clans would fight for.

He reached the trees above the ford and hesitated for a moment. There were four of them, and he was alone... But he was more than a match for them, and had surprise on his side. _Valley-men are weak,_ he told himself, and then exploded from the undergrowth.

The men were taken by surprise, and one fell back into the river, head missing, before the others could even react. White Eagle buried his spear in the second man's stomach, grabbed his sword, and used it to block the downward blow of the third. He swept the fourth man off his horse and slit his throat in a swift, practiced slice, and then whirled, ready to fight the last remaining horseman, only to see the rider struggling, across the river, out of the ford, and fleeing back the way he'd come. 

 _Coward_ , White Eagle thought, and spat disdainfully into the river.

The other three horses had also fled, but the roan mare remained, sides heaving and flecked with foam as it struggled to catch its breath. Her rider lay where he'd fallen, but a faint rustle told White Eagle that there was still some life in the boy. He walked around and assessed the situation; the wound was deep but not necessarily fatal. There was a chance for recovery.

For a brief moment, he considered just leaving the boy there to bleed out on the rocks. But... no, perhaps he should at least give him a chance. After all, the soft valley weakling would probably not survive. 

He removed the crossbow bolt with steady hands; this was a wound for which he knew exactly what to do. In the clans, even children not even a handful of winters old knew how to treat simple wounds, and you had to prove you could do the more complicated stuff, too, before they let you roam on your own, or even hunt.

The boy moaned quietly, and twitched under White Eagle's hands, but his eyes remained closed. _Typical for a lowland milksop._

Finally, the bloody work was done, and White Eagle threw the crossbow bolt into the Saige, where it followed the bodies of the valley-men on a long journey to the wild northern ocean. The clan boy then turned his attention to the roan mare that had wandered to a small patch of grass and was now grazing calmly, as if three people hadn't just died. Granted, they were valley-men (why should anything care about the deaths of valley-men?), but still... 

He approached the mare, expecting her to bolt at any second, but he was able to snag the reins with no trouble at all, and she followed meekly as he led her back to her rider's unconscious form. He lifted the bundle on he back down, figuring he could carry it, when the blanket wrapping shifted a little and he found himself staring at the small face of a sleeping baby boy.

The shock was such that he almost dropped the bundle. What in the name of the gods? By the mountains and rivers, what was going on here? 

He set the baby down, and then delved into the saddlebags, hoping to find some clue. At first there just seemed to be nondescript travel necessities, but then his hand encountered something circular and metal, and he paused before drawing it out. 

It was a crown, gold birch leaves and pine needles, with silver spikes weaving in and out and jewels, emeralds and diamonds and sapphires, beautiful, delicate-looking, yet stronger than steel and as old as the valley kingdom. In an instant, he knew what this was; one could not mistake the royal crown of Jalinn for any other. It was unique, and the spells on it made it so any copies would break.

But if this was the crown, then... what did it mean? He glanced at the baby, and then at the boy once more. If his suspicions were right...

He shook his head and reached into the bag one more. No good acting on mere suspicions, ghost rumors, especially if the actions were ones he could not undo. His hand came in contact with a piece of paper, and he pulled it out, opened the scroll, and began to read. He read quickly, and when he finished, remained frozen to the spot. His suspicions had been right.

He suddenly leaped to his feet and grabbed his spear, leveling it at the baby—Prince Jason, according to the letter, valley scum and the blood of those who had killed his father. He could kill the prince right now... kill his guardian too, for that matter... he should... any other clan warrior would have done it...

But he hesitated. If this was really the prince, which all signs pointed to, then... the possibilities were numerous and the door wide open... and, slowly, cunningly, a devious plan began to form.  

*******

True to White Eagle's assessment, the last of the killers was indeed a coward. He had seen not a boy, but a fierce clan warrior, and had fled back toward the capital with all the speed his horse could muster. 

Two weeks later, he was shown into the throne room, quaking slightly as the king stared at him from his perch on the throne. Granted, King Johnny was only a teen, but he was 'uncommon cunning' and had an obsession with cleanliness.

He bowed as deeply as he could, not daring to look up.

"Well? What happened?" asked the king, leaning forward. "Did you get them?"

"Yes, your Majesty, we did. We caught them just as they were crossing the Saige. The boy was beheaded, and I personally slit the babe's throat. Their bodies were thrown in the Saige, and once they reach the sea, will never be found."

King Johnny relaxed visibly. "Good," he sighed. "But where are the others?"

The killer squirmed. "Well, after we killed the traitor and the babe, they started arguing, and then we were ambushed by a bunch of clan. I was the only one to get away."

The king frowned, and then smiled. "I see, more of the reward for you, no one to share it with. Nice. I like it."

For a moment, the killer was confused. Then he realized that the king thought he'd killed the other assassins so he'd get all of the reward. To be honest, the idea had crossed his mind, and he'd been planning to on the way back. But luck had worked on his side, and he hadn't had to. He let out a relieved chuckle, and then the King hopped nimbly off the throne, slapped him on the back, and called for some wine.

Later, as the killer was shown out, he let a small smirk flit across his face. Sure, lying to the king was a crime, but he'd rather lie to the king than get his head chopped off for not carrying out orders, and he could always hop a ship south to Nildatwah next month. He could be something other than a killer. It seemed that the University always needed more small staff.

He preferred life with a head, thank you very much, and he'd take what he could get.

Little did he know that the small poisoned thorn between his shoulder blades, left there from the king's friendly slap, had already begun its deadly work. He would never see another sunrise.

*******

The arrival of White Eagle to the Hawk Mountain camp with a horse, a wounded valley-boy, and a baby caused uproar. A camp meeting was immediately called to address the issue, and White Eagle found himself in the center of a proverbial hurricane. 

“What're we gonna do with the baby?” Three Larks at Dawn asked, bouncing her own infant, Crow That Dances, on her hip. Her voice was tinged with concern. “We can’t just leave him there.”

“Why not?” Pine Squirrel sneered. “He’s gonna be nothing but trouble.”

Dew on the Grass shook her head. “Look at him, chubby lowland weakling. He won’t last a week here. It’s kinder to just put him out of his misery now.”

“Besides, what have the valley kings ever done for us?” Night Bear snarled. “They came here where they were not wanted, they killed our families, our brothers, our sisters, our children, and now they say they rule us. They take our wealth and they make us bow before them.” Behind him, others nodded, whispering among themselves that what he said was true. “This is one of that blood. I say we spill his blood across the rocks and call the spirits of our dead forth to drink!” With those words, a cheer erupted and people began standing and chanting. A blood frenzy was settling over them, and the small bundle shivering on the cold earth stood no chance.

“O STINKING GODS!”

The words ripped through the longhouse like a shot from a bow, and White Eagle was stunned to realize they came from his mouth. Then the astonishment was gone, replaced by a burning anger.

Slowly, he stalked forward into the clearing, glaring around the tension filled, suddenly silent gathering. The warriors glared right back, but on this day, White Eagle was a boy no more, and no fierce glower could daunt him.

“O stinking gods,” he growled again, “who was it that saw fit to place me on this earth surrounded by idiots?! Can you not see that a gift has been given to you, that it lies under your nose, and yet you are throwing it away?”

“There is no gift here–” Pine Squirrel began, but then a stirring by the fireside cut across his words and a woman by the hearth whispered, “Hush, Mother Raven speaks!”

Raven-in-the-Sky was the oldest woman in the camp, an elder with years of advice behind her wrinkled eyes. As her name suggested, she was cunning and wise, and when she spoke, she was always listened to, for she never wasted words and her thoughts were always valued. Old Mother Raven, they called her, for to her they were all children, and she taught them as a mother would.

Now, she raised her eyes from where they had been staring into the flames and shifted back onto her haunches. “How many of you have left the mountains?” she asked, her gaze roving over the gathered warriors. “How many have gone beyond the forests, crossed the Saige, and seen the land of the valley-dwellers? White Eagle, young as he is, has made this journey. He was the one who found the valley-man and the babe, and he has as much of a right to speak as anyone else.” She shifted her weight again. “Perhaps, through his traveling, he has glimpsed something we have not. The gods guided him far enough.”

White Eagle bowed. “My many thanks to you, Mother Raven.” He paused, considering his words. “When I found these two by the river, I saved them not because of who they were, or because of what we could get from them, but because it was the right thing to do. They were being chased by armed pursuers. They were outnumbered. They had no evident way of fighting back, and were merely fleeing for their lives. However, the pursuers were armed, with lethal intent and the means to do so. I had no intention of letting any valley-men so equipped cross the Saige, and so they did not. Their bodies will have reached the sea by now.

“Later, when I found the crown and saw the sigils upon their robes—and the quality of those robes and the clothes they wore—it is true, my first thought was of killing them. After all, the valley-men have caused us much harm, and here were two important, valuable ones at my mercy.

“But I stayed my hand.” He surveyed the gathered Clan and then laughed delightedly.

“Some of you are probably wondering why. Well, I’ll tell you why. It’s quite simple, really. If you knew anything about the valley-men, or the current state of affairs, you would have seen it in an instant.

“See, the valley right now is in a state of turmoil. The scion of House Weir (that’s one of the older houses, one of the most powerful ones) had staged a coup. He deposed and killed the old king, King Brown, and he and his forces also slaughtered the rest of House Brown, all of Houses Gold and Aaron, and most of Houses White, Davis, Wagner, and Lysacek. In fact, the man who was riding that night, fleeing with the babe, is the only living Lysacek left.

“Now, Weir had stylized himself king, but he died suspiciously not long into his reign. His teenage son, Johnny, took the throne, and placed his loyal followers at the heads of the houses. He was left, though, with a problem: the old queen, the Brown one, had pled her belly, and to kill a pregnant woman would bring not only the supposed curse upon him, but the wrath of the people. There were already mutterings of those who preferred life with the Browns on the throne, and the ‘Usurper’, as they styled him, did not want those mutters to become a firestorm. No, he figured it was probably better just to wait until the baby was born, kill both the queen and the babe, and say that the child was stillborn.

“But, you see, things didn’t work out like that. On the night the queen gave birth, a teenage boy snuck into her tower prison and took the babe from her arms (with her permission, of course. She’d accepted that she was going to die, but she didn’t want her child to). The child thief, Evan, took the babe and a few necessities to keep them both alive, and planned to ride north, to escape the new king’s reach. However, their flight was discovered, and the king’s best killers were sent out after them. They would have been dead, and that would’ve been the end of it all, had I not interrupted."

He paused once more, and more than a few of the gathered warriors grew in admiration for the boy's skill in speaking. He truly was a master wordsmith, and also a strong hunter and a cunning mind. They had not had a proper leader for some time, and now some began to suspect that in front of them was their next gods-given chief.

Finally, timid Wood Mouse raised his head and asked, "But why does it matter to us?"

White Eagle had his answer prepared. "It matters because this new king will be even worse for us than the old ones, the Browns. He does not respect the Mother at all, and would seek to kill us, Her children. He does not understand the basest level of respect for those that came before, and therefore he cannot understand us. Valley-men fear what they do not understand. What they fear, they attempt to control. And what they cannot control, they seek to destroy."

"Then what do we do?" That was young Tide Heron, scared to be speaking at a camp meeting but speaking nonetheless.

"We take this prince, raise him as one of us, and teach him the ways of the Mother. And when he is old enough to be a warrior, we put him on the throne. It will be as if one of us was king." White Eagle grinned wolfishly.

"We will never have to worry about the valley kings again."

*******

Outside the longhouse, two children, a boy and a girl, were huddled in the shadows, ears pressed against a small crack, straining to hear what was being said inside. The boy was blond, curly-haired, and about nine winters old; the girl was slightly older, with long brown hair and a somewhat strange facial structure. 

Halfway through, the girl drew back, shaking. The boy glanced around, a nervous expression on his face, and then wrapped his arms around the girl. 

"'s gonna be okay," he whispered into her hair, sounding like he was trying to convince himself just as much as her.

"You heard what they said," she sobbed quietly. "Most of Houses Davis and White slaughtered... are our parents dead? Are we all that's left?" When he didn't answer, she went on. "And just back there, they wanted to kill a baby just because he was valley-born! What if they turn on us next?!"

"But it wasn't them who killed our families. They've accepted us. They said it themselves, our families never had a quarrel with them... this won't change that. They're not gonna kill us, Mer—"

"Shhh!" she interrupted, tears forgotten. "You can't call me that anymore, especially not now. I'm Snow Feather now, and you're Smoke and Falcon. You can't slip up like that."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll, uhh..."

"We can't remind them that we're different any more than we have to." Her words had an air of finality about them, a strange mixture of defeat and strength, like saying, _maybe you're rid of us for now, but we haven't really gone away, and someday we'll come back and make even more trouble._ "Okay?"

"Yeah."

They sat there for a few minutes, backs against the bark of the longhouse, staring at the night sky. Suddenly, the boy burst out, "This won't go on forever, right?"

"No, you heard them, they're planning to put that baby on the throne once he grows up. We just have to wait for that." She sighed. "And until then, we are clan."

Then, casting one last look at the great main longhouse, they both stood and crept back to their own small sleeping places to await the coming dawn.

*******

Back inside, the talk was still raging on what to do about White Eagle's finds. Most of the warriors now seemed to be in agreement that they should raise the prince as one of them and at least let the boy live, but there hadn't been a vote yet, and there was no chief to decide for them. The closest thing they had to a chief was the shaman, Long Spear Rising, and the eldest of elders, Old Mother Raven, but both had yet to voice an opinion on the subject. 

Eventually, when most of the debate had died down and there was relative silence in the longhouse, White Eagle asked if anyone was opposed to a vote. There were no nays, and Tide Heron scampered to the back to fetch the pebbles. 

Mother Raven moved to the front of the longhouse to preside over the voting, and people began casting, right for yes, left for no. Not surprisingly, Night Man and Pine Squirrel voted no, but Three Larks at Dawn voted yes, as did Tide Heron, Wood Mouse, and Dew on the Grass (shockingly). As voting went on, there seemed to be no clear leader until about halfway through, when Long Spear Rising cast his vote in the baby prince's favor. After that, the 'yes' pile steadily grew while the no pile barely changed. White Eagle, the last to vote, heaved a sigh of relief at the result; he hadn't realized how much he'd been hoping for this outcome. 

After that, there were a few minor details to take care of. Three Larks at Dawn volunteered immediately to take care of the baby. It made sense; her own son was about the same age, and she had milk to spare. 

Then there was the matter of a name.

"If he's to be clan, then he must have a clan name," Long Spear Rising said, and many nods showed agreement. "Who would like to do the honors?"

Three Larks at Dawn opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Pine Squirrel interrupted. "I think we should let White Eagle name the brat. After all, he found it, didn't he? It's his fault it's here." This drew smirks from those who'd voted no, and White Eagle felt his face burn. _Don't show your feelings,_ he reminded himself, and managed to keep his face devoid of expression.

"Why, maybe you're right," Long Spear Rising smiled. "After all, it was White Eagle who bravely defended the mountain lands from the valley killers. It was him who found these two, and he was the one who was intelligent and knowledgable enough to recognize the latent potential in this one small child. Let us honor him! White Eagle, the floor is yours." He bowed comically and stepped aside, and White Eagle had to catch himself to keep a laugh from erupting as he strode back to the front of the meeting.

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, and the whole camp watched him with bated breath. Finally, he nodded, as if satisfied with his choice, and the tension in the air grew palpable. A name could mean a lot. It was the mark you carried until you died, or until you did something monumental enough for it to change.

His voice rang out calm and clear around the longhouse, and no one could deny the words of truth he spoke.

"River of No Return he shall be named, for he came from the greatest of rivers, and he shall himself be a river of change, a great current flowing from the darkness of the past to the brilliance of the future. He shall change both clan and valley forever, and to the old feuds and fights there shall be no return."

Applause broke out throughout the longhouse, and all of Hawk Mountain Camp cheered the choice. It was a fine name, indeed.

Prince Jason, now River of No Return, yawned and rolled over in the arms of his new mother, unaware that anything—everything—had changed.


	2. Skaelshild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skaelshild: (SKAYLZ-hilled) _n._ an orphan, a foundling, one sprung from the unknown, literally 'child of shadows'. Derived from Old Common, _skael_ meaning shadow, and _hild_ meaning child, offspring, legacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A complete list of clan names of those who are original characters:
> 
> Raven in the Sky  
> Long Spear Rising  
> Night Man  
> Pine Squirrel  
> Three Larks at Dawn  
> Dew on the Grass  
> Wood Mouse  
> Tide Heron  
> Running Salmon  
> Ice Fox Flower  
> Sun Through Trees  
> Otter of the Lake  
> Small Willow  
> Deer Watching Stars

_Fourteen years later_

River of No Return balanced carefully on his branch, high among the needles of the towering Douglas-fir, watching the ground below for any sign of movement. He drew in a long breath, as quietly as he could, because any small noise could mean failure. He could not afford to give his position away. Somewhere down there was a pair of trackers, trailing him, and he had to elude them.

A movement on the edge of his vision caught his attention, and he turned to see Crow That Dances waving at him. River's foster brother, he had perhaps the best hearing in the whole camp, which more than made up for his breathing difficulty. The black-haired boy of Western Empire descent now cupped his ear and pointed to the northwest.

River nodded and shifted his stance minutely. _Coming from the northwest,_ he thought, and tried to make himself relax. There was nothing to do now but wait. 

Suddenly, he detected a slight rustle, and tensed as he zeroed in on a small patch of undergrowth. The bushes rustled slightly, and then parted to let Running Salmon creep through. He was followed by Laughing Sands.

River cast a glance over to Crow and caught the other boy's nod. He held up a hand... three... two... one... GO!

The two of them dropped down from their respective trees and landed atop the warriors.

Immediately, River's grip was dislodged as Running Salmon dropped and rolled. However, he still had the time to leap back and yank a knife from his hand; he didn't want the larger man to use the weight advantage.

Running Salmon lunged forward and used his free hand to grab River's wrist, but River, slippery as a fish, twisted out of his grip and jumped sideways. He stuck his leg out, and the warrior tripped and stumbled, dangerously off-balance. River pressed his advantage, darting forward and kicking at Running Salmon's stomach. The other fighter managed to dodge and grabbed River's ankle, yanking him off his feet.

The impact knocked the breath from him, and he scrambled to get upright. Then a great weight settled on top of him and he found himself pinned.

Running Salmon grinned. "Little River, they should call you. This was too easy—" His voice cut off and he swallowed nervously as he felt the prick of cold steel against his throat. Then he smiled ruefully. "I take that back, foxy one. Small but cunning."

River grinned.

*******

Jeremy stood at the rail of the good ship _Dänheldr_ , almost leaning over the edge as he watched the Nursken trading vessel approach the docks of Port Fansa. Dockhands scurried about, preparing a berth for the ship and the harbormaster appeared, striding officially toward them. Nursken trade goods were always well crafted and sold for marvelous prices, and the harbormaster wanted to make sure he got a good look at what was there before anyone else did.

Amid the hustle of docking, no one noticed the twenty-something mage at the rail. Jeremy smiled; he was near invisible in his current clothing (a simple cotton tunic belted loosely at his waist and a pair of black leggings) and he doubted that anyone suspected that he had the trappings of a great mage, a black-robe master, tucked away in his trunk. He preferred things that way. Experience had taught him that not everyone appreciated mages for what they were worth, and some were downright hostile. Remaining unseen cold be a great benefit to him, especially now.

 _Port Fansa,_ he thought, _how good to see you again. It's been years since I walked these streets, and... you have changed a lot. Oh well. I suppose I should have thought of that. I have been gone for sixteen years. My, my, it sure is nice to be home._

He had been born on a small farm ten leagues northwest of Port Fansa, a humble enough origin. His childhood had been one of crops and horses, cattle and sheep, and he had been content with it, for he, little boy that he was, had known no other way of life. Sure, he'd heard about the luxurious life of the noble houses, the children who'd never had to do an honest day's work in their lives, and the ones who trained to be knights only because it was an honor and they were carrying on the tradition of their families... but he was a mere farm boy, and he knew better than to dream about things like that. He didn't even want to be a merchant; even though they got more money, they had to cater to the whims of the buyers.

No, better to be a farmer. You might be poorer, but you were independent. You could survive on just your own hard work, and everything you had, you got from your own sweat, blood and tears. 

Of course, that had been back when Jeremy had not seen more than seven winters, and had yet to learn an important truth about himself.

He smiled wryly as he remembered that fateful day in midsummer when all the children in the nearby village had gone down to the creek to play. A little girl had fallen in and was drowning when two giant water hands had formed and carried her to safety. Afterwards, all the children had sworn it was Jeremy, the poor farm boy, who had controlled the water like it was clay. 

His parents had been skeptical, until he stopped a herd of stampeding cattle by flying firewood in front of them. Then they'd called for the mage-tester, payed him the small fee, and expected to get a verdict that Jeremy's powers were nothing, really, and he would be trained by the village healer.

Instead, the mage-tester had put him through a small series of tests and proclaimed that he would need to be sent south for training—the village, the region, even the country didn't have the tools to teach a child of his power. He'd be better off at the University. That revelation had of course called into question his parentage, as neither father nor mother had a single drop of magic. The mage that had been summoned to transport him south to  Nildatwah agreed to check.

When Jeremy's mother's decade-old cheating came to light, his quiet rural paradise had been destroyed. With no other options evident to his young mind, he'd packed his bags and headed south to receive an education. 

That had been sixteen years ago. He hadn't been back since.

Jeremy shook his head to clear away the clinging cobwebs of the past. He couldn't afford to be trapped outside of himself, not now, when he didn't know the lay of the land. He'd heard rumors, bad tales, and he wanted to stay on his toes.

He merged with the passengers streaming down the gangplank; there weren't very many. Nursken trading ships generally didn't carry too many passengers, and they were fairly pricey, but the crew treated the lowest passengers just the same as the highest ones; among the traders, everyone was born equal and your rank was based on your work. He grabbed his trunk and began to drag it toward the recommended lodging-house. It was trader-run, so he knew the food would be good, and the questions would be few. 

But, by the Seven, this trunk was _heavy_! Back at the university, he hadn't had to worry about who could see him, and had been able to magic it around. Now, though, he had to manhandle it everywhere, and considering this was a move and not a short trip, the trunk was full of basically everything Jeremy owned.

Suddenly, the weight lessened, and the trunk tipped upward. Jeremy whirled around in surprise and saw a dark-haired, pale-skinned teenager with an impudent grin and threadbare clothes carrying the other end as if it were nothing. 

"Pard'n me, sirrah, jus' thought ya looked like ya migh' need some 'elp, if'n'at's okay wit ya," the boy smiled cheekily. "Won't ask fer much either, jus' a few coins, sir, cuz I'm tryin' ta get back ter Heldan ter see my fam'ly."

Jeremy nodded and smiled back. The accent gave away the boy's lie, coming from the Najra region in the kingdom's southwest corner, but he understood the desperation of hard times and what street children were driven to. He had money to spare, and the trunk was exhausting to carry. 

The boy grinned in relief. "Thanks, sir! The name's Josh. What's youse be called?" 

"Jeremy."

"Well then, Master Jeremy, I's be most happy ter 'elp ya."

Jeremy nodded his thanks and gave Josh the address of the lodging-house. When he heard the destination, Josh gasped. "Ya stayin' at a trader-house?! Ere's not many at'll stay wit traders... Ya over brave or jus' crazy?"

If his smile became condescending, well, Jeremy couldn't really help it. "The Nurska don't really eat people, Josh. That's just a nasty rumor."

Josh looked down at the ground and shrugged. "Ya never know..." he muttered.

Then they were outside the lodging-house, and Jeremy counted out a few coins—more than was strictly necessary, but he had a fortune left over from the work he'd done in Mynxen last spring. Then suddenly he stopped. 

As he'd handed over the coins, his hand had brushed the boy's, and he couldn't help but notice the strange fizzing, tingling feeling. He looked over Josh again, silently whispering a spell. 

Josh started edging away, but Jeremy grabbed his wrist. He was certain of what he'd seen. That had been magic, and no small seed of magic, either. This was a big deal, and he knew—more than anything—that untrained mages were very dangerous.

"Josh," he said, "I think you'd better come inside and have a bite to eat." 

*******

When they returned to Hawk Mountain Camp, Running Salmon left them to talk to the chief, White Eagle. River and Crow waited anxiously by the edge of the camp, straining to hear what was being said, but even Crow's sharp ears could pick up nothing. 

Finally, Laughing Sands came over and dragged them to the main longhouse, telling them that waiting around wouldn't make evening come any faster. They joined in a game of Fates and Ladies (an old clan favorite). Neither won, but they couldn't really expect to when Snow Feather was playing, could they? She could beat the whole camp blindfolded. 

Eventually, the sun began sliding below the treetops, and River could barely keep still. When White Eagle gave the call for all to assemble, he jumped up immediately. 

As soon as everyone was there, White Eagle started speaking. "Today, we are gathered here to celebrate two young people in our midst. Crow That Dances, River of No Return, come forward." He beckoned, and they stepped forward. "These two before you, they have undergone a period of training. Now, they have been deemed fit to become full-fledged warriors by those who taught them. Are there any objections?"

No one spoke.

"Then here before you, they will be grown. Crow That Dances, do you swear to serve the clan, with loyalty and bravery?"

Crow's voice was steady as he replied, "I do."

"River of No Return, do you swear to serve your clan, with courage and wisdom?"

This was it, River thought, and kept his voice firm as he said, "I do."

"Your oaths are accepted, and you are now warriors of the clan."

A cheer erupted from the gathered camp, and River could feel his chest nearly bursting with pride. Likewise, Crow's eyes were shining bright with excitement.

Later that night, when the celebrations were winding down, River found himself in a corner, leaning back against the bark wall and sipping a cup of mead. Crow sat down next to him, and raised his mug to the heavens. "To being warriors!" 

"Aye, brother. Warriors!" River slurred out in reply. 

"By the Mother, they're drunk. 'S always funny, watching the new warriors drink for the first time," Smoke and Falcon whispered to Tide Heron next to him. Snow Feather whacked the back of his head as she walked by and made a mental note to make sure the two young ones didn't get any drunker. The hangover would probably be bad enough as it was.

*******

Josh sat nervously at the counter, drumming his fingers on the wood. He felt out of place. The trader-lodge was rather pricey, and he'd never seen the inside of one before. The man next to him, though, walked with an air that stank of confidence, power, and above all money, which was something Josh had learned to recognize easily. As a skilled pickpocket, he needed to know who it was worth stealing from.

Originally, he'd been planning on taking the man's—Jeremy's—wallet, but then he'd been overpaid, and now he was being treated to a fine meal. Despite the talk, trader food was actually quite good, a bit too spicy for him, but they did have dairy-free options. However, Jeremy kept watching him from the corner of his eye, and Josh was starting to be creeped out.

Eventually, he finished the food, thanked Jeremy, and began to rise, but once again, that strong, viselike grip wrapped around his wrist. Josh was slightly surprised, but even then he was used to the rich bags thinking they could just push the street rats any way they wanted to.

He sighed. "Sir, I'm sorry if you were expecting anything, but I do not offer 'other' services. I'm not a whore."

Jeremy released him with such a look of shock plainly written on his face that Josh knew the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "No thanks," the man replied. "I prefer my partners a little older." Then his face became suspicious.

Too late, Josh realized he'd forgotten the Najran accent.

"Perhaps you'd like to join me in a sitting room. Conversation only."

And here was an opportunity to leech more money out of the encounter. Nakio, god of luck, had certainly smiled upon Josh today. 

Inside the parlor, with the door closed and no watchers, Josh threw himself down in one of the chairs, and was shocked by how far he sank into it. It was so comfortable and soft! Then he gasped again as a fire sprang up in the grate on its own. 

"You're a mage!" he exclaimed, turning to Jeremy.

The man sighed as he sank into one of the other chairs. "Shhh, not so loud. Tell the whole world, why don't you? But yes, I am a mage... and I think you are too."

At first, Josh didn't think he'd heard right. "What? Me, a mage? 'm sorry, sir, but I think you must be mistaken. I haven't studied anywhere, and I'm sure I'd've known if I had any power."

"You're wrong there. You don't know if you've got power or not. It's something hidden inside of you, and I felt it there earlier. So, either that's a pretty powerful trick, or you're an untrained mage."

Josh needed some time to wrap his head around this. It was startling. If he had power, why hadn't it helped before? That first winter on his own, when he was nearly starving, why hadn't this power given him food? Why hadn't it kept him warm when the blizzards had come? Why hadn't it shown him how to keep his sister alive? 

"Look, I'm not sure how else to explain it, but the magic manifests itself in strange ways. Can you remember anything unusual happening to you?"

"Well... I, uh... when I'm being chased, sometimes I find that holes open up where they haven't been before, and whoever it is that's after me can't find them... is that what you mean?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I was getting at. Now, I have a proposal for you."

Josh held his breath as a stare fixed him on the spot. What is it? his inner voice clamored. What's he gonna ask you?

"How would you like to learn magic?"

The breath whooshed out of Josh and he sat there, stunned.

Jeremy continued talking, going on about how he'd be his apprentice and how they would be traveling a lot and so on and such forth, but Josh wasn't listening. Here, in from of him, was a grand opportunity, a chance to leave street life behind forever. He could pass it up, keep what he knew, and regret this choice his whole life... or he could accept and go off on a grand adventure. He made a snap decision, squared his shoulders, and blurted out his answer before he could change his mind.

"I'll do it."

"Great!" Jeremy stood and began to pace, reorganizing his belongings out loud and listing the items they would need to buy for Josh before the trip began. He left the room for a moment, and when he came back, it turned out he had purchased another whole room, _just for Josh._  

"Um..." he began, now aware that this mysterious mage seemed to be near floating in gold. "Um, sir, are you sure you want to spend all tha—" His voice was cut off as a huge yawn threatened to split his head open.

"Oh, I hadn't realized it was so late. Josh, I don't do things halfway. If you don't like the idea of these things as a gift, then consider it a loan, one you can repay by learning."

Josh, throat dry, found that all he could do was nod.

"Good. Now get to bed—Room 24, on the right. And don't call me sir. It makes me feel like an old man!"

Josh nodded again and scrambled for the staircase as fast as his legs could carry him. As soon as he was out of sight of the ground floor, he stopped and did a spinning dance of happiness and success.He was free! He was leaving Fansa! He was to be a mage!

 _Thank you, Nakio,_ he whispered in his head. _Thank you for watching over me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are different levels of magecraft. Here is a list:
> 
> Master  
> Dedicate  
> Initiate  
> Apprentice  
> Untrained
> 
> All credentialed mages go through the bottom three. The other two are based on power, dedication, and choice. Dedicates and Masters have different ranks among themselves, color-based:
> 
> Black  
> Yellow  
> Red  
> Brown  
> White
> 
> Dedicates wear white robes with the trim of their rank. Masters wear robes of their rank with black trim. This means that the Masters of the highest rank, or great mages, seem to wear pure black robes, which has earned them the nickname black-robes. The great mages are also of a limited number; there are only ever thirteen of them, one for each moon of the year. 
> 
> There are thirteen moons instead of twelve months because the time is measured by the phases of the moon, which takes less than a month. In this world, let's just say there are exactly thirteen moons in a year, or 'winter'—hence the measurement of age in winters, not years.
> 
> There are also different names for the days of the week, which are actually what the days of the week in some languages are based on.  
> Sunsday  
> Moonsday  
> Firesday  
> Watersday  
> Woodsday  
> Goldsday  
> Earthsday


	3. Grathbraign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grathbraign: (GROT-brine) _n_. revenge, vengeance, literally taken back in anger. Derived from Old Common, _grather_ meaning rage, anger, hatred, and _ebraignal_ meaning to take back what is yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gracie and Max, street rats and street gangs, kittens.

Heldan, the capital city of the kingdom, was the seat of royalty. It was known as a shining city, with jewels and gold, opportunity and wealth. To live there was to live in the lap of luxury, to never want for anything, and to have everything you could ever need. 

In reality, this was only true for the city's richest neighborhoods. The rest of the city was a mix of the poor, the dirt-poor, the piss-poor, and those who were so poor there wasn't even a name for them. They had the lower half of the city, crammed into tight and dirty quarters, or living on the streets with no roof at all. Within these squalid areas, where the Dogs were poorly funded or scarce, crime had grown ripe alongside the poverty. With thieves, murderers, and prostitutes abounding, little wonder that the lower districts were home to many orphans... and with those orphans and street children came the breeding of gangs.

In a narrow alley between two apartments, in Brownstone District, there was a small nest of rotted blankets, covered in the stench of an unwashed city. The cat who had littered there had been crushed by a cart earlier that day, and the kittens were mewling with hunger, their tiny pink mouths gaping at the world and their eyes not yet open. There were three of them, a black and white tom, a tabby she-cat, and the smallest, a tortoiseshell kitten that squirmed against her siblings, begging with them for a mother that would not return.

Suddenly, a human hand closed around the tortoiseshell and scooped her up, cradling her within it. She wailed pitifully as the familiar scent of her litter mates trailed away, but then a gentle finger teased softly at the fur under her chin, and she purred feebly and leaned her tiny body into it. 

A second hand picked up her black and white brother, settling him next to her and then going back for the final kit. They were so small that they all fit into the cradle the two arms made, and the kittens squirmed backward into the warmth of a girl's chest. 

"Whatcha doin', Gracie?" These words came from the dark-haired boy standing in the mouth of the alley. "Whatcha got there?"

The girl turned, smiling as the kittens purred in her arms. "Kittens, Max!" she whispered gleefully.

"Umm... don't they look a bit small?"

"Well, yeah, but with the rat plague, they'll still fetch a nice price down-market."

Max chuckled. "Yeah, get the coins for 'em an' then let the bags do the hard work. Good thinkin', Gracie."

The two of them slipped sideways along the stonework, moving with the practiced ease of those who have spent years fading back into crowds, waking in shadows and remaining unnoticed. As they eased out of the alley, a shaft of sunlight caught the girl's hair, making it shimmer underneath the dirt that coated it. The boy's hair had a similar scruffiness to it, messily cut and unwashed. Both were wearing ragged, threadbare clothes that might have once been colored but had now faded to a dull, tattered gray. There was a strip of cloth around their left upper arms, dirty blue with a crude snake's head sewn on in brown thread.

The armbands marked them as members of the Copperhead gang, which controlled Brownstone District and most of Fountain District, except for the market that was Fountain's eastern edge—markets were neutral ground, a no man's land that any gang could travel through and no gang could claim. The Copperheads were allied with the Tigers, their southern neighbors.

Gracie weaved through the crowded streets, carefully keeping the kittens tucked safely under her ragged tunic. Max was right behind her, keeping an eye out for any other street children. Technically they were still in Copperhead Territory, but it never hurt to be careful; there were rumors that the Night Runners were growing ambitious.

They reached the market and slipped inside through a crack between two slats. Once inside, they made a beeline for the back. It was Firesday; Adelina, one of the only traders brave (or stupid, depending on who you asked) enough to deal with street rats, should be in. 

Thirty minutes later, sans kittens and with more coins in their pockets than they normally saw in a month, the two trotted out of the market and eased home. The Copperhead den was in an abandoned basement in the center of Brownstone, with boarded up windows and a dirt floor. It was not a great lodging place, but it was the best that street children could do, and it was at least a safe place.

Gracie paused after entering to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness. When she could see again, she crossed to the money pot and poured the kitten-coins in. 

"Where'd you get those?" Michael asked. He was sitting on the floor, flinching as Javi wrapped his arm in a rag. 

Max shrugged. "Found some kittens. Sold 'em to 'lina. What happened to ya?" 

The younger boy grimaced. "Stupid bags don't care fer nuttin' but 'emselves."

Gracie shot a questioning glance at Javi, who shook his head. "Run-in with a cart."

Ah. That made sense.

As night fell, the various Copperheads began to come back, and the den began to fill up. The day's haul was brought in (both coins and food). It had been a good day, and the gang was able to have the first solid meal in weeks. Then they curled up and eventually drifted off to sleep.

*******

Josh sat uncomfortably in the saddle, not used to the constant motion that riding a horse entailed. In front of him, Jeremy was riding expertly alongside the caravan leader, catching up on current events. On either side of them, the great plains stretched out, endless grassy savannas that eventually merged into the Red Desert to the south. The horizon stretched on, broken occasionally by the sparse, wind-twisted trees that clung to life with a solitary passion. 

He frowned and turned his attention back to the trail. He'd been trying for the last four days to hold the reins right, but he just kept fumbling them. He was starting to get embarrassed. 

As night fell, the caravan stopped, and Josh sighed in relief as he slid off his horse. He knew that when he woke up the next day, he'd be sorer than a demon's derrière.

 The next morning, Josh was, in fact, aching all over. He begged off riding and chose to walk alongside the caravan; at least the callouses on his feet were ones he'd known for years. 

As the sun reached its zenith and began sloping toward the horizon, they reached a fork in the road, and Jeremy bid the caravan a hearty and warm goodbye, thanking them for their hospitality. Then, while the wagons continued toward the far-off hills of Gaun, the two riders turned south and headed toward the city of Barzuk-Adjan. Darkness had fallen by the time the towering earthen walls were in sight, but Jeremy was pleased with their progress, saying that they'd be inside before breakfast tomorrow.

Josh wasn't sure he liked the idea of riding with an empty stomach.

"Why're we going here again? I thought you said we were going to Heldan," he asked as they made camp that night. 

"Change of plans. There's... ah... someone in Heldan that I don't want to run into just yet. Besides, from Barzuk-Adjan I can contact a friend from the university. We may need her help."

"And who is this friend?"

All that Jeremy would say in response to that was, "Her name's Yuna." Despite Josh's repeated queries, he did not reveal anything else on the subject.

*******

Gracie couldn't sleep.

This was nothing new; she sometimes had trouble sleeping in the den. On nights like these, she would climb outside onto the rooftop, and usually the starlight would sing her to sleep. 

Tonight, however, Max was waiting for her when she climbed up onto the roof. They leaned against each other, settling against the thatch and staring at the night. After a while, Gracie reached into her shirt and took out the thin bronze chain from which a gold cat's eye amulet hung. Max removed a similar necklace from the depths of his tunic, a copper chain with a badger claw pendant in silver.

"Long live Houses Gold and Aaron," they murmured in unison. "May we never forget them, those who came before."

There was a mount of silence.

"Someday," Gracie whispered, "we'll do something about this, right?"

"Yeah," Max replied. "Someday, we'll avenge our families, we'll make things right again."

She smiled. "When we do, the Usurper is going to be be sorry he ever crawled out of that swamp he came from."

While the moon crept toward the horizon, the two sat on the roof and dreamed about a past that could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Law enforcement: Dogs are the equivalent of your typical police force, covering just that city in separate districts. The King's Hounds are the special forces, the elite, the best trained and the fastest of both the army and the Dogs.


	4. Fjellmennesk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjellmennesk: (FYEL-men-esk) _n._ Clan people, literally people of the mountains. Nursken, _fjellene_ meaning mountains and _mennesker_ meaning people.

It had been two weeks since River of No Return and Crow That Dances had been made warriors, and the two had settled in fast. Despite the new responsibilities and powers they now had, neither had changed much, and it made White Eagle hopeful for the future of the camp. 

It was fun watching them. However, simple play-fights, training, and day-hunts were not enough to prepare new warriors for a full-on battle, or even a long ranging.

A tap on White Eagle's shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned around to see Cloud Arrow standing there, weight shifted to favor one leg, as it always was.

"You wanted to see me?" the warrior asked.

White Eagle nodded. "Walk with me," he said, putting a hand on Cloud Arrow's shoulder and beginning to walk away from the camp. He shortened his stride to mach the other man's almost unnoticeable limp, an old injury that never fully healed. 

When they were far enough away from the camp that no one would hear any talk, or notice them at all, White Eagle slowed his pace and sighed.

"I assume you've guessed why I wanted to summon you?" he asked.

"I have a suspicion, yes, but it would be preferable to have it confirmed."

White Eagle sighed and sat down on a rock by the small creek, motioning for Cloud Arrow to join him. "Soon," he began, "I will be leading a long ranging westward, toward Lightning Rock Camp, for the dual purpose of hunting and making contact—we have not heard from Lightning Rock Camp in a while. The new warriors will be part of the patrol."

 Cloud Arrow nodded. "They will be excited to hear this."

"Yes. But... you still have the... items?"

"Of course. I would not get rid of them."

"Good."

There was silence for a moment. 

Cloud Arrow shifted. "Was that all you wanted me for?"

"No. I have a few questions. In the time before the coup, if the prince were to die and there were no Brown heirs, who would the crown pass to?"

"The Golds—but they're all dead—"

"Who would it pass to after them?"

"The Whites—oh."

This time the pause was filled by the cry of a jay, screeching at nothing.

"If anything should happen to River of No Return, you are to modify the plan, and prepare to back Smoke and Falcon for the valley throne." White Eagle rubbed at the small of his back, the weak joint that still bothered him when it got colder or when his stress level rose. "Likewise, should I be... incapacitated, it is your duty to make sure the plan is continued. We have the support of the seaward camps and the lower mountain camps; only the upper mountain camps are opposed." 

"Aye, and our other allies?"

"The Nursken traders will help with ocean blockades and the like, and Heyksjalva has promised troops. Granduil and Gaun will help as well; they have just as much to lose as we do, and they have no desire to be swallowed by Jalinn the way their neighbors were. The nomadic tribes of the Barzmeh and the Adjema have expressed desires to be out from under colonial rule, and I feel that should we approach them, they will be willing. Much of the old valley and the rural areas of Jalinn itself still feel a sort of loyalty toward the old kings, and should also support us if we come forth bringing a Brown—or White—as the true heir to the throne."

"So it's looking good?"

"Good is objective. But it's not looking impossible."

*******

The dawn broke over Sunsbridge University like a shattered jar of honey, slow golden light oozing across the landscape in rivulets and droplets. It trickled down the streets of Nildatwah, making even the murky river glimmer as the crocodiles glided silently below the surface. It wafted between reeds undulating softly in a pattern that, ghostlike, echoed the lives of eons before. It swirled across cobblestones and corners, heat-dried woodwork and grains of sand that the western wind had blown in. And in a high tower room at the edge of the great campus, it spilled softly through an open window and tumbled onto the dozing form of a woman.

As the light fell across her face, Yuna cracked her eyes open, mumbled something incomprehensible, and threw an arm across her face. Normally, she was up long before this, but then again, normally she wasn't making midnight runs to the wildener to get Coli, her newly acquired lion cub, treated for a broken paw. 

Coli had been a thank-you gift from Emperor Dizaan, Alorom's ruler. Unfortunately, the child emperor was young and naïve enough to not understand the inconveniences of giving a lion cub to someone who didn't have their own personal menagerie. She was managing, though, and the fact that Coli was only a cub, and therefore small, was quite helpful.

 Something shifted next to her head, and Yuna twisted around just enough to see the tawny fur ball curled up beside her pillow. Coli lifted her head, blinked once or twice, and then yawned, whiskers tickling where they brushed against Yuna's face. The cub then stretched in that exquisite way that only cats can and ran a paw playfully across the sheets. 

Yuna sighed and forced her eyes open to their full extent, and then slowly became vertical. She stumbled over to the basin of water and splashed a handful on her face. Next she grabbed a brush and a mirror and attempted to get her hair into some form of order. She barely managed a passable bun before a yawn nearly split her head in two. She scrubbed at her eyes in another attempt to wake herself up, and then dragged on a thin tunic and some cropped leggings. It wasn't too hot for such clothing yet, but it would be in a month. 

At least classes were over. Those little buggers at the university never listened.

The crystal hanging from the mirror began giving off a pulsating red light, and Yuna sighed. She wasn't really in the mood for a scry-chat, but it might be important. She waved her hand, purple magefire sparking around her fingers, and Jeremy's face appeared in the mirror. 

Yuna blinked, surprised. Normally, Jeremy only called every other Watersday, around sunset. Today was Moonsday, and the sun was just barely over the horizon. This was highly unusual. 

"Hey," Jeremy said awkwardly, "um, how are you?"

"I am fine. Nothing much has changed since last time. I presume this is not a social call?"

"Er, no... I, uh, I need some advice."

"On what?"

"Well, maybe I can do it on my own, but I figured..."

"Stop pausing, Jeremy. It's annoying."

The words left Jeremy's mouth in a rush. "Can you come to Barzuk-Adjan because I've found a kid with a whole lot of power and I don't know the first thing about teaching and I need your help." 

And that was not what Yuna was expecting. At all. 

It didn't take long to think about it. Winter classes were over, and she had less than a moon before the humidity became unbearable. Besides, if she stayed here, she knew she'd be bored to death before real summer had even begun. 

Oh, and she probably owed it to this poor kid to make sure Jeremy wasn't their only company. No one deserved that.

It would also give her the opportunity to see how well Coli traveled. There were too many reasons to go, and she couldn't think of a single good reason to not want to.

"Okay," she said, "just let me say goodbye to the emperor. Oh, and also, I have a lion cub."

The conversation ended with the sounds of Jeremy's surprised spluttering. Yuna couldn't help but laugh.

*******

It was just past noon when White Eagle tapped Crow That Dances on the shoulder and told him to prepare for a long hunt the next day. "You know what to bring," the older man said, giving Crow a quick smile that managed to be both kind and businesslike. 

Long after White Eagle had moved on, Crow stood there, eyes wide, shock coursing through his brain. Then he unfroze and sprinted toward the lodge the younger warriors shared, dashing inside and trying not to freak out with excitement. Frantic hands grabbed a pack frame and began stuffing things into it—tunic, extra leggings, sleeping roll, flint and steel, spare knife. Crow's spears were tied to the outside. As an afterthought, he grabbed an extra pair of moccasins as well, and then stopped to do a brief celebratory self-hug.

Loud steps pounded outside, and he looked up just in time to see River sprint inside the lodge. "YEEEEEEEWE'REGOINGONAHUNT!!!" the other boy yelled, practically vibrating from anticipation. His face was almost glowing, and his eyes shone, even in the semi-darkness of the lodge. The celebratory self-hug became a celebratory each-other hug.

Outside, Mist Between Shadows peered longingly through the back entrance to the lodge, watching the two new warriors in their excited preparation. Next to her, Sings in the Night was practicing small illusions, working hard in her shaman training. 

"Our time will come, Mist," Night whispered calmly. "Next year. We just have to wait."

"I'm bored. I'm tired of waiting," Mist replied. "I wish I actually got to do something interesting for a change. It's not the same for you—you're getting to learn magic and all that stuff. I just have to sit around and wait."

"Magic's not all it's cracked up to be. Perhaps there's something we can do other than wait."

"Like what? We're not old enough to do anything."

Night shrugged. "Maybe if we did something great—proved ourselves in some way—then they'd see us differently."

Mist's eyes went round. "You mean go off and do something on our own?"

Night shrugged again. "Yes."

Slowly, a grin crept across Mist's face. "Oh, YEAH."

The two girls whispered softly in the gathering twilight, making plans for their hopes to become a reality. They had no way of knowing that that reality would be on them sooner than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, YEAH" Mist said in the exact same voice Rocket uses in Guardians of the Galaxy.


End file.
